Family Reunion, Part 2
by Marionj2
Summary: Carnivale: Betts Jones continues her search for her family history, this time in Las Vegas, as she meets an old roustie.


**Indianapolis**

Angie woke with a start. The phone was ringing.

She peered blearily at the bedside clock. 5 a.m? Who could be calling? Her father was getting old – was it an emergency? She grabbed the phone before the answering machine kicked in.

"Uh…hello?"

"Angie? It's me. Betts."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, I just wanted to ask you something."

"It's five o'clock. Are you nuts?"

"Oh, jeez, I'm sorry. I forgot you're an hour behind us."

"That makes it six your time. You're still nuts."

"You're grumpy in the morning, aren't you?"

"Wha…?"

"OK, I'm sorry for calling so early. I woke up and started thinking about Grandpa Jones and Grandma Elizabeth."

"Again? You're really getting a little obsessed here, Betts."

"Well, it's interesting. I've been reading up about the Dust Bowl. Did you know the storm they called Black Sunday went all the way to New York? Lots of people died of something they called dust pneumonia. Little babies! It's so sad."

"Betts, I'm a history professor, remember? Yes, I know about the Dust Bowl."

"Well, I've been doing the arithmetic. If Grandma Elizabeth was in her twenties when she was dancing with the Carnivale, they must have been traveling around during the Dust Bowl. Can you imagine what that must have been like, Angie?"

"Betts! Five o'clock! What do you want?"

"Sorry. Your dad's phone number. I'd like to talk to him about it some more."

"Good luck. He doesn't talk about those days much. And don't call _him_ at five a.m.! Got a pen?"

**New York**

Betts wrote down the number, apologized again, and hung up the phone. Then she headed for the kitchen and poured another cup of coffee.

Her cat, Samson (named because he was huge and strong – too strong when she needed to get him into his carrier), jumped up on the counter and butted her.

"All right, all right! Breakfast is coming! Why can't you eat dry food like a sensible cat? That canned stuff stinks."

Later that morning, she dialed the number Angie had given her.

"Hello?"

"Uncle Gabriel?"

"Elizabeth?"

"How'd you know it was me? You have other nieces."

"You don't just look like your grandmother – you sound like her. How are you, dear?"

"I'm fine, Uncle Gabriel. Great, as a matter of fact. Ever since Angie and I went to Coney Island to see the sideshow, I've been feeling good. That's why I'm calling, actually. I've been doing a little research about the Dust Bowl, and I wanted to ask you what it was like to travel around the country then with the carnival."

"Well, I'd happily talk to you about it, if I could. But the truth is, I don't really remember much about that time. It's all blurred together with things that happened later."

"Oh. Well…is there anyone else I could talk to? I mean, with Grandpa and Grandma gone, I don't really know where to try next."

"Let me see. Well, I do know someone, but he's in a rest home in Las Vegas. You'd probably have to go there – I don't think he'd be much for phone conversations. He used to be a roustie in those days – his name's Osgood."

"Osgood? What's his first name? "

"Don't know. Never heard it. He was just Osgood."

"Osgood. OK. What's the name of the home?"

"Hold on. I'll find it."

--------------------------------

"Hey, Angie! Want to go to Vegas?"

"Why is it never a guy asking me that? Since when are you a gambler, Betts?"

"I'm not, actually. I just want to go to Vegas for a weekend. Lots of people do it."

"When?"

"Next weekend. I found a really cheap package."

"I can't, I'm afraid. I have a summer seminar to do. But go anyway, and have fun! See if you can get a ticket for the Cirque Du Soleil."

"I will, but that's not really why I'm going."

"Uh-oh. This has the whisper of your quest for family history. Did dad help?"

"He gave me the name of an old man in a Vegas old people's home. Says he was a 'roustie' with the carnival. A Mr. Osgood."

"A roustie. That's a roustabout, right? The guys who do the hard work?"

"Yeah. It must have been a lot of work, too. They used to take the carnival apart, then drive to the next stop, and put it all up again. Can you imagine taking a carousel or a Ferris Wheel apart, then putting it back together?"

"Makes me glad I was born when I was, and female."

"Me too! I tell you all about it when I get back. Now I'd better call the catsitter. I wonder if they have Cirque Du Soleil cat toys?"

**Las Vegas**

Las Vegas was hot. Really hot. But really, really air-conditioned. You just went from one air-conditioned building to another. It wasn't much like CSI, that's for sure – no hot, dusty roads, at least not on the strip, where her hotel was.

Betts found she had to go through the casino to get to the front desk. She wasn't surprised – she'd heard a lot of the big hotels were like that. She looked around. It was barely noon, but the place was full already. In fact, some people looked as if they hadn't gone to bed yet. New York was supposed to be the city that never sleeps, but Las Vegas ran it a close second.

Betts checked in at the glittering Art Deco reception area, then looked at her watch and realized she had an hour or two before she could go up to her room. On impulse, she left her bag at the desk and went straight back outside to the taxis. She snagged one immediately, gave the nursing home address to the driver, and sat back in air-conditioned comfort.

It turned out that the Lakeview Rest Home was on one of those dusty roads she'd pictured in her mind, and nowhere near a lake. Inside, however, it was quite pleasant, and the friendly woman who greeted her was the one she'd spoken to on the phone before leaving home.

"Ms. Jones? I'm Annette Gibson. I'm afraid this may not be a good day to visit Mr. Osgood. As I told you on the phone, his wife died a few weeks ago. He has some good days, but this isn't one of them."

"May I see him anyway? I won't stay long if he doesn't seem up to it."

"Why not? Maybe you'll be able to cheer him up. This way. He's in the front room."

She led the way down the hall to a big open room. By the window, a frail old man sat hunched in a wheelchair, staring out at the scrubby trees in the front garden.

"Charlie?" Annette Gibson said. "You have a visitor."

"Mr. Osgood? My name is Betts Jones. May I speak with you for a minute?"

He turned his head slowly, then froze. In a trembling voice, he said: "Libby? But you're dead. Am I dead too? Where's Ellie?"

"No, no, Mr. Osgood. I'm Libby's granddaughter, Betts."

The old man turned away and muttered, "Ellie's gone."

Betts looked inquiringly at Annette Gibson, who whispered, "His wife."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Mr. Osgood," said Betts.

"I'm lost. What am I going to do? She's my life." He stared out the window again.

Betts took a deep breath. "Mr. Osgood, do you remember Clayton Jones? He was my grandfather."

"Jonesy."

"Yes, they called him Jonesy. Do you remember him?"

"Ellie's gone. Why am I here?"

Betts looked at the administrator, who shook her head. "Maybe you should come back tomorrow."

Frustrated, Betts looked back at Charlie Osgood, then nodded, and followed the woman back to the reception area.

The Lakeview home really was a nice place. There was a lot of greenery, and subtle color in the furnishing. There seemed to be a number of younger people too, presumably visiting relatives.

"Oh, Mr. Osgood! I'm glad to see you!"

Startled, Betts glanced at Ms. Gibson, then realized she was addressing a young man coming down the hallway towards them.

"Ms. Jones, this is Roy Osgood, Charlie's grandson. Ms. Jones came to call on your grandfather, but he's not really up to talking today."

Roy Osgood was about 30, medium height, with blond hair and a nice face. Quite good-looking, actually. She shook hands politely.

He asked, "What's your connection with my grandfather?"

"A long time ago, he worked with my grandfather, Clayton Jones. In a traveling carnival in the '30s."

"Really? I don't know anything about his life back then. It sounds kind of interesting.

"He's not feeling well today, though."

"I'm afraid he's been like that since his wife died. He just doesn't seem to live in this world any more – he's wherever she is. Hey, listen, are you in a hurry? You want to have a cup of coffee or something?"

"Sure."

"You mind waiting a few minutes? I just want to check in with Granddad."

The cup of coffee turned into dinner, and into an evening at the Cirque Du Soleil, which was everything she wanted it to be. The trapeze act of the identical Steben twins, especially, was breathtaking. They spun in mid-air, twisting and turning, flying impossibly far and high, mirror images of each other.

Roy turned out to be warm, funny, bright, and single. The single part had a lot to do with the fact that he was an entertainment lawyer, who traveled constantly between Vegas, Los Angeles, and New York. _Yay!_ _New York!_ (Plus, he could get last-minute tickets to a sold-out show – who couldn't like a guy like that?)

They talked for hours into the night, about their lives, books, movies, childhood memories – all the getting-to-know you things. When they finally returned to her room, she was surprised by a relatively chaste, but very warm, kiss at the door. "See you tomorrow?" he said. She nodded, he kissed her again, turned and left.

_Well I'm damned! He's either too good to be true, or he's gay. Guess I'll find out tomorrow._

The next day found them both at Lakeview, and this time Mr. Osgood was bright, alert, and cheerful. He was happy to see Roy – they seemed to really get along, and he greeted her politely.

"You're Jonesy's granddaughter? They said I should stay long enough to talk to you."

"Yes. My name's Betts Jones. Do you remember Jonesy?"

"Hell yes. I can't remember what I had for breakfast, but I remember them days clear as crystal."

"You worked for my grandfather, right?"

"For him, and for Samson, and Management, too, if he ever existed."

"Samson? That's funny – that's my cat's name!"

"Well, Samson was little, but he weren't no cat."

"So who was he? And who was Management? I thought Granddad ran the carnival."

"Nope. Jonesy ran the rousties. Samson ran the Carnivale. Or Management did."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we never saw Management. Supposedly he stayed in his trailer all the time, and give all his orders through Samson. A big mystery. Samson was always hintin' that he had some kind of super powers, but we never saw him. Me, I don't think he even existed. Then one day he was 'dead,' and Ben was in charge."

"Ben? The Chinese guy?"

"What? Chinese?" A wheezing chuckle erupted into an all-out laugh. "Ben Chinese? Where on earth did you get that from?"

"That's what my mom said. I guess because he fixed Granddad's knee. She thought it was acupuncture. It wasn't?"

"No…it wasn't acupuncture. Dunno exactly what it was. One day Jonesy was a gimp – had to walk with this leather brace. Then he got tarred and feathered, and Ben cured him. And cured his knee, too."

"Wait. He was tarred and feathered, run out of town, all that stuff? Why?"

Roy, quiet until now, said, "Tarring and feathering could be really bad, a lot worse than we think it was. They used hot melted tar, and people sometimes died, or were scarred or crippled for life."

"Jeez – really? How awful. What happened to him?"

Charlie Osgood explained: "Some people blamed him for an accident on the Ferris Wheel. They came and got him and Libby in the middle of the night. They tarred and feathered him, and made her watch. Then they left him for dead, and her with him."

"Oh God! That's terrible. How did this Ben guy get involved?"

"Not sure, really. He came across them on the road, they said, and…cured him."

"How?"

"I got no idea."

"So you knew my grandma Elizabeth too?"

"Who? Oh, Libby. Sure."

"Listen, I don't really know how to ask this, but grandma Elizabeth – she danced, right? And…took her clothes off?"

Roy turned to look at her, startled.

"Sure." The old man chuckled. "She and her ma were really good. And Dora Mae too, 'fore she died."

"Who was Dora Mae?"

"Her sister. She was quite the number. When she did the blow-off, it fair rained money."

"Blow-off?"

Roy made a choking sound, as if he was trying very hard not to laugh. "It's when they take everything off – and show everything!"

"Grandma did _that_?"

"Yes, they took turns. But Rita Sue – she was the one."

"I give up. Who's Rita Sue, now?"

"She'd be your great-grandmother. Libby's mother."

"She stripped too?" Betts' head was reeling.

"Oh yeah, it was a family business. Rita Sue and the girls provided the … services, and Stumpy ran the business. Stumpy was your great-grandfather."

"Stumpy? Why'd they call him Stumpy? Did he have one leg or something?"

Another chuckle. "He was a talker. Like standin' on a stump or a box to get people into the show."

"He was, like, a pimp?"

Roy gave up the struggle and laughed out loud.

"It's not funny! Everything I hear gets worse and worse."

Osgood shook his head. "Nah, it was the times. People did what they could to make a living. Every good-sized town had women sellin' themselves. There was that time in the black blizzard…"

Roy said, "Black blizzard?"

Betts answered. "Black blizzards were dust storms – big ones. I read about them. Sheep would choke to death on the dust. They were terrible."

"I was drivin' Samson that day, and I had to get indoors…" A reminiscent smile flickered across Osgood's face, then he shook his head, as if he had to force himself back to the present.

"Those Dreifuss girls made a _good_ living," he said. "Rita Sue – she stopped traffic just walking through the camp. She was really something."

"And … Libby?"

"She stopped that stuff when she married Jonesy. Still danced a bit, though."

"What happened to the family?"

"Well, Dora Mae died. And Libby married Jonesy, well, you know that, of course. And Rita Sue and Stumpy – I heard they moved to Florida when the Carnivale broke up."

"Mr. Osgood, may I ask you about your wife? How did you meet her?"

"I was workin' for a circus, and she worked with the animals. The first time I saw her, she took my breath away. So beautiful, so sweet.

"I always worried about the animals, though. That was the circus where Maria Rasputin – you know, the daughter of the crazy Russian monk? - was mauled by a bear. I always worried about Ellie. But she loved the animals, said they wouldn't hurt her. And they never did."

"How long were you married?"

"Fifty-seven years."

The old man was looking tired, suddenly, and Betts realized she had kept him talking longer than she intended to.

"I'm going to let you get some rest. I really appreciate the time you've given me. It's all so interesting."

Roy adjusted the blanket over the old man's knees. "I'll see him to his room. I'll meet you out front."

"Goodbye, Mr. Osgood. Thank you again."

A frail hand lifted, and Roy maneuvered the wheelchair out into the hallway and out of sight. Betts wandered back down the hall towards the reception area, when she sat and browsed a magazine until Roy came out. She heard his voice, talking to someone, but he emerged alone.

"Just a second." Roy stopped at the desk and pulled out a checkbook.

"You pay for him here?"

"I help out some. It's a nice place, and they're good to him."

Betts and Roy spent the rest of the day – and night – together, getting to know each other some more. (_OK, he's definitely not gay._) By the time she took the plane home on Monday, they were making plans for his next visit to New York.

------------------------------

**New York**

A week later, her phone rang.

"Betts? It's Roy."

(Huge sense of relief – a week without hearing from him had made her wonder if she had misjudged him, if he was just another one of those guys who forgot her as soon as she was out of sight.)

"Hi."

"Sorry I didn't call before. I've been kind of busy. Um … my grandfather died."

"Mr. Osgood? Oh no!"

"It's OK. He was really at peace that day we visited – happy when I took him back to his room. He had some visitors waiting for him there, too, as a matter of fact. They'd been there the day before as well, though, so I don't think they were going to stay long. He was happy, and he was really looking forward to being with his wife again. Apparently he went into a coma that night, and never woke up."

"We buried him on Wednesday. It's taken me a while to get caught up with everything. "

"I'm so glad I got to meet him. Did many people come to his funeral?"

"More than I expected. People from the old days, from the carnivals and circuses. And the people who visited him at the rest home the day we were there."

"Who were they?"

"People I've never seen before. A couple. Oh – I remember, the guy's name was Ben. It stuck in my mind, after what we'd been talking about, the carnival and all."

"Funny!"

"Anyway," Roy said. "I'm coming to New York next week. Can we get together? Maybe we can go to Coney Island and see that sideshow you were telling me about."

She laughed. "Maybe!"

A couple of minutes' planning, and they said goodnight.

Betts hung up the phone and got up to feed Samson, whose yowls had interrupted the conversation at intervals. (_Well, he said he likes cats – guess we'll find out._)

Coney Island? Maybe. _(Wait!)_

Betts stopped dead in her kitchen. When she had first visited Mr. Osgood in the rest home, when he was so sad and lonely, she had seen some young people she took for visiting relatives. They had looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place them.

Now she remembered. They had reminded Betts of the couple she had spoken to outside the burlesque show in Coney Island. What were their names? Sofie…and Ben. That was it.

_Ben??_

_Nah. Coincidence._

And she opened the refrigerator to get the cat food.


End file.
